The Columbian. [volume] (Bloomsburg, Pa.) 1866-1910, 1887-04-22
SELECT STORY.
"CORDON!"

| tne back OF small court numbered 81
OF the Rue Neuve St Augustine. No
81 give it fearlessly, since even it,
foundation stones have long beer
Haussmanized away.
The court WIS flooded with sunshine
that was not dusty, aud great plan,
tree grew in one corner, close against
an ivy covered wall The yellow
placard, "A Louer," hanging at the
door had been the bait Turing me intC
his mouse trap, as it certainly proved
to be.
But all that comes later on. Fol
the prrseut it Is enough to say that the
room was comfortably furnished aftel
the old Venetian manner, and hung
with Cordova leather, old, too, anc
real; beyond there was salon with g
floor so highly polished that l narrow
ly escaped sprained ankle in crossing
it, and q chamber, commonplace
enough but for the chintz hangings
with which its walls and ceiling were
draped oppressively, in wide plat,
that met overhead in central rosette
somehow suggesting the interior de
coration Of coffin. In spite of this
untimely thought and of the super
huous antechamber and sale a mangei
useless membranes in bachelor quar-
ters, | took the apartment for a month,
to the evident delight of old Cassimir
whose feather duster twi,ched express
lively in his pal,ied hand.
| The tremulons eagerness Of this good
gentleman made me half suspect tha,
he had not the remotest right to le,
the rooms at all. But he told a wei
vanished tale of an old proprietor who
hated women and who passed bis life
in search of a country so civilized as tc
do without them. From this Journey
of desperation he returned now anc
then to restore his tired senses in the
coffined chamber and to gather cour
age for new departure. 1t was mid
summer; ! might keep the rooms until
the autumn-not an hour longer, since
the patron would then be likely to
pounce down upon his possessions un.
announced at any moment. Just no.
he was believed to be in Lapland.
When | moved in that very after
noon, guilty feeling of intrusion
overcame me. The place was so luxur.
ious, so well ordered, so unlike the
/ four walls of lodging for which one
pays. In the library of the leather
hangings the patrons books were upon
the shelves; his portfolio, his paper
knife upon the table the ink in the
miniature helmet of blue steel was dry
1t is true; but there lay the we'll worn
qnil. beside it. The room reveals the
man, says Diderot; granting this, the
patron was man of taste and well in.
formed. took down some of the
books; here were superb bindings, old
and rare editions. Upon one fv leai
his name was written-Marius Morizo,
the hand clear and fine, like a wo.
mans. Cassimir had said tnat he was
old. Bibliophile and traveller, with
the means to follow his fantastic bert,
this patron would certainly be an agree
able man to meet on his own ground
that is, if one came properly intro
duced. All here was as if he had left
it yesterday. What if the door were
to open and admit him at the next
moment?
Just then the door did open, but
only Cassimir came 10, bringing fire.
wood; for the sun had already left the
little court in shadow, and there was
an unreasonable chill in the waning
summer day. The old man wore a
black skull cap over his thin, gray
hair and green baize apron that
swathed him nearly to the ankles. He
chartered about the fire as he built and
lighted it, all the time holding under
his arm the eternal feather duster,
which seemed to be his badge of office.
| had lately seen, at the Comedie
Franchise, Regnier's masterpiece, the
sly old servant in "La joie fait peur,"
the picture of amiable senility. Here
was the thing itself
"The patron has his treasures,
said, stroking tenderly the crushed
levant that enshrined numbered re-
print of Andre Chenier.
Cassimir looked at the shelves with
a certain respect and then shrugged
his shoulders.
"Yes, but not there" he answered
Thinking that he referred to the
glittering objects of the salon, l treat.
ed myself to complacent smile, as |
quietly put up the book.
"Not there he repeated, shuffliug
toward me in his loose slippers, and
letting his voice die away into the i'm
portant whisper that is the emphasis
of French man of all work. "Ah, il
monsieur knewl"
"Knew what 7" | asked. "Have we
a gold mine at our feet ?"
He chuckled and nodded. "Better
than that, monsieur. See T.
Then he pushed aside one of the
hangings, and showed me that it cover
ed a door of FURNISHED steel.
"A safei"
"Yes, monsieur, in the wall"
sand of such size!' | continued, for
the doorway, though narrow, was
higher than my head. "What can he
keep there?"
"Jewels, monsieur" said Cassimir,
enjoying my surprise. "Jewels from
the end of the earth, laid away in little
drawers, lined with velvet as soft as
the down of bird. 1t is a passion
with him; the collection is a property
in itself"
laid my hand gently upon the
shining metal; it might have been the
door of tomb. ! drew back shiver-
ing. The thought Of these untold
riches, hardly out of reach, disturbed
me; felt in measure responsible for
their safety.
"The door is locked, Of course" said
"Oh, yes, monsieur; only the patron
has the key" He brushed the door
lightly with his feather tips, as though
he were dealing with some fragile work
of art, and then dropped the curtain
over it.
'Cassimir! You have your masters
leave to let those rooms; you are sureY'
"Oh, certainly, monsieur; monsieur
need give himself no uneasiness: il il